


The Problem of Pygmalion

by Solitary_Shadow



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Character Study, Creator-Creation, Gen, reflective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/Solitary_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A study on fandom and the mutual admiration we share for Rammstein. This one goes out to everyone who ever fell in love with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem of Pygmalion

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know any of the members of Rammstein, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warnings:** First person disjointed narrative, possibly confusing chain of events, lots of food talk. No sexual content. Spoilers. References to real life events. Potential offensive content.

**The Problem of Pygmalion - A Rammstein Fanfiction**

A study on fandom and the mutual admiration we share for Rammstein.  
This one goes out to everyone who ever fell in love with them.

 **Warnings:** First person disjointed narrative, possibly confusing chain of events, lots of food talk. No sexual content. Spoilers. References to real life events. Potential offensive content.

\-------------------------------

Say hey. How's tricks?

I must say, it was very kind of you to meet me at such short notice. And so late in the evening too! You're every bit as charming and wonderful as you are online.

Yes, this is my car! Quite a lovely little car, isn't it? It looks familiar to you? It wouldn't surprise me. Do hop in, my dear - ah yes, it's your favourite album of theirs! I didn't forget. We are two Rammstein fans who found each other, after all - it'd have been tragic to forget what your favourite album was. It's my favourite too, as you surely remember. 'Mutter' is their best work, yes, excelling in all three categories - instrumentals, vocals and lyrics.

It's quite something to drive along this peaceful stretch of road with 'Ich Will' playing in the background.  
It's also quite something else to do so with such a nice lady in the passenger seat.

Are you hungry? I know a good place nearby. You are. Excellent. It is cold, isn't it? I'll turn the heat up a little. There you go.

I promised to tell you more about myself once we met up, didn't I? I fully intend on keeping that promise. It's _quite_ a long tale, though. Quite complicated as well, that's why I preferred not to tell it online. There are some things that just can't be conveyed with words on a screen, after all.

What I'll be able to tell you is a tale of liberation. A confession. A transformation. I assure you, it'll be worth it.

Shall we go?

\-----

I hope this restaurant is good for you.

A restaurant is a little too forward for a first meeting, you say? Haha, that may well be so. But the look in your eyes is coy and cheerful; may I take that as a confirmation that you, in fact, do like this restaurant?

I'm a regular here. The lights are so dimmed in this place that two people can sit opposite each other at a table and not be able to recognize each other. But it's a quiet place, a subdued place, and it's possible to actually have a _conversation_ here unlike the busier places about town. The food is good too. I recommend the pasta dishes especially, they do a lovely _pasta alla carbonara_ and the lasagna is also supreme - but it's rude of me to insist on such things. What would you like to drink, my dear? It's all on me. The duty of a gentleman, after all.

I see. One glass of Spaten - a fine choice of lager, I'd say - and you'd like the _spaghetti alla marinara_. No appetizers? Any desserts?  
Lemon granita and espresso. An elegant meal for an elegant lady - no, no, please don't blush so! I meant all that I said.  
I'll have the _risotto alla milanese_ please, waiter, and a glass of Doppelbock. No appetizer for me. As for dessert, a slice of _Prinzregententorte_ and espresso, please.

Thank you.

An Italian restaurant that serves _Prinzregententorte_! Quite something, isn't it? But then, this is Bavaria after all.

Let's review what we know about each other. The drinks will come around soon. You're twenty-five years old, work as a writer in your spare time, you enjoy fine dining and reading and secretly you're quite the metalhead. From what I gather, you haven't told many people around you about your love for metal music! A secret pleasure, you say? I do admit, seeing you in the flesh - you don't look the type to like metal music, you're so elegant and reserved. Not like the brooding teenagers with dyed hair and chains and collars around their limbs. And your favourite band member of Rammstein is Till Lindemann.

As you'd know, he's also my favourite out of all six of them. I've told you considerably less about myself - you know how old I am, and the songs I love from them, and you knew that I also write poetry in my spare time. You know that I'm working with the band as well. Allow me to expand on all of that now. Let's start from the beginning. That's where most stories ought to start.

I was born in West Berlin, 1975. Despite being in West Berlin, I wasn't exactly born to a wealthy family - I was the youngest child out of five, and by the time I was born my parents were fairly indifferent to the act of raising children in general. There was a whole fifteen-year difference between the oldest child - my sister, who I have to clarify that I love and bear no ill will for - and myself. Indifferent parents tend to result in indifferent children and an indifferent marriage and I never felt as if I had any purpose in the world until I was much older. You can imagine that I didn't exactly grow up to be a very social or hardworking boy throughout my childhood and teenage years. I went to school, was in the swim team, studied, had a few friends, but it wasn't in any way memorable.

By the time I was sixteen, the Wall had fallen and I'd finished compulsory education with mediocre grades. My parents divorced when I was thirteen and I didn't really settle in with either of them, simply staying for a bit with one and moving to stay with the other now and then. Drifting along with no real idea as to what I wanted to do, not wanting to go to university nor get much of a job. I had mediocrity thrust upon me from when I was only a child, and until I was legally an adult, said mediocrity continued to haunt me. I did some manual labor for a while, mowing lawns, lifting sacks, the usual. Never stayed in any of those jobs for very long. I lived in a single-bedroom flat at this time, financed partially by my parents and meager bits of salary I received at those temporary jobs. Not a very good flat, but I was even indifferent to that kind of thing. I did know, though, that I couldn't possibly keep going like that for the rest of my life.

So I became a stagehand.

Simple stuff, really. I walked into a nearby venue in Berlin, a fairly large one that was running short on help, and simply got the job. I'd never really worked in theatre or anything in music, see, it was just that I was lucky enough to find a venue who took anyone who worked decently enough and knew to keep out of the way. I wasn't professionally qualified, of course - I started off from the bottom of the ladder, simply cleaning up before, during and after performances and occasionally lending a hand with some of the props. More like a janitor than a stagehand. But I kept on working, I never asked for a raise nor caused any fuss, and I picked up enough experience to be promoted to general stagehand within a year. Worked lighting too, occasionally. By the time I was twenty-one, I was working full time as security. I have a way of being firm with people. This was in 1996 - I still didn't know what I wanted to do, I doubted I could work as security forever. Though even then I'd have had to admit to liking the atmosphere. It paid okay, too. Nothing to complain about, nothing to raise a fuss about.

Ah, here are the drinks. Let me pause a little there, I'm quite thirsty. Hmm? What was that? Am I not hot, wearing the coat, scarf and hat in the restaurant? No, no, I'd be actually quite cold without it. I always struggle with the temperatures around this time of the year, you see, and I can't say this is an incredibly warm restaurant either. It is terrible etiquette though, I acknowledge that, in the presence of a lady - in which case, do I have your permission to keep those garments on?

I do. I appreciate it. You're very kind.

All that was just a prelude to the important bit of my story. It wasn't until 1997 my life was drastically changed. That summer, a band that I hadn't ever heard of before booked the venue for five nights in a row - quite an unusual move, but I was even more surprised when all five nights sold out. But even then I didn't capture the full scope of how hard this would affect me until the first night of their performance.

Back then, I listened to anything. I preferred music from the Classic and Romantic periods, I was old fashioned like that - but really, there was nothing I minded so much that I couldn't stand listening to it. When you work in a concert venue, it helps to be able to bear any kind of music. It also helps that security are provided with earplugs too, just in case you really hate it - and there are frequent switches too. I was due to stand in front of the barriers that night, with my back turned to the band, watching out for any sign of mischief. About half an hour before the performance was due to start, and the arena having filled to bursting point, I went out for a brief smoke break.

"Do you have a light?" a voice asked from behind me, and I turned around. A man stood there, tossing his silvery hair to the side ever so slightly; he was of similar build to me, and I immediately understood that he was one of the band.

"I do," I said, and I lit his cigarette and mine. All very standard, it wasn't as if I'd never done similar things before. You'd be surprised how many bands I met over all those years, how many of those people asked me for a light, whether for a cigarette, a joint or whatnot. I was even invited to do cocaine a few times, though I always turned it down. It was because I looked fresh and young for a security guard, I suppose. What wasn't standard and really got me paying attention to him was what he said after he flicked away the ash from the tip of his burning cigarette.

No, he didn't ask me to light a joint for him or asked me to come backstage for a quickie or anything. Quite the naughty suggestion! I can confirm that such events do happen to roadies and some stagehands, though, although I was never subjected to it. No, he looked at me, straight in the eyes, and said: "Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be a hermaphrodite?"

Well, that certainly got my attention. Got me thinking that he was nuts, but certainly grabbed my attention. I held back my shock at being asked such a strange question and told him the truth, that no, I hadn't ever wondered about that. Why did he ask?

"I think it'd be interesting to be one," he said, puffing on his cigarette and staring intensely at the wall as if he could see something other than plain white wallpaper there. "can't say it'd be medically possible, but it's just the concept of it. Male and female at once, physically and mentally, two entities into one. You could love yourself and it'd turn out normal. Beats bisexuality or transsexuality any day, don't you think?"

I didn't know how to respond to that. If he turned to me and asked me that now, I still doubt I'd be able to answer it. He tossed away the filter and looked at me again. "You must think I'm crazy, going on about this kind of thing when this is the first time we've seen each other. It was rude of me. I do apologize. Even my bandmates think I'm crazy, I can't argue with that, I spout this kind of crap all the time..."

I was convinced that he was quite mad at that point, but he'd gotten my attention, he was different from most people. And that realization, that an indifferent bugger like me had actually _felt_ that, kept me from shrugging and ignoring him. "It's not crap," I said, I wanted to humour him at least, see. "as I said, I can't say I've ever thought about it that way. I just work security. I've had no time in my life to think about anything outside the box. But I guess it'd be interesting, the possibilities of it - no need to go out chasing tail. Give yourself the female or male perspective. Hell, send yourself roses. That kind of thing."

It was just a spur of the moment thing, but at what I said, he gave me the most strange smile. It was strange because it was not one of sarcasm, love, happiness or anything single-minded like that - it was one mixed with confidence, admiration and what I think amounted to humility, I tell you, my dear, I've only ever seen a smile like that a few times in my life, and they've only ever come from that man. He smiled in three ways - his lips quirked upwards, his cheeks dimpled, and his eyelids slid halfway shut. The result was - how would I say it - a smile halfway between innocence and an almost submissive pleasure, a beautiful smile, an _erotic_ smile.

"Send oneself roses," he repeated to himself with that smile. "I think I might use that. Thank you for the muse. I've never had a security guard talk _with_ me like this before."

You can see where I'm going with this, can't you?

"Glad to meet you. My name is Till Lindemann," he introduced himself, and we shook hands. His hands were strong, roughened with work like mine but pleasantly warm. We didn't get to talk much more than that because he was soon called in, and he politely apologized and excused himself backstage, leaving me feeling a little stunned but not at all in a bad way.

That's one thing that he said that always sticks out in my mind. him asking if I'd ever wondered what it would like to be a hermaphrodite, the physical embodiment of two sexes in one body. Two genders in one body, even. Sexuality is a complicated thing, you'd agree. But then, hey, in this day and age - whatever gets you off, I suppose.

The final straw came during their actual performance. It was then I realized that he was the actual singer of the band, that he possessed a voice onstage quite unlike the mild, soft-spoken one that he'd used with me - harsh, deep, intensely alluring. Very exaggerated pronunciation for a German too, I did think that was quite strange. I had earplugs in to shield myself from the noise, and usually I'd have ignored what I could hear so I could focus on work - but I couldn't help but pay attention to the actual music, the loud thumping of drums and bass ringing dully in my ears along with Till's muffled vocals. I could still hear what he was singing, and within a few songs I'd fallen in love with the lyrics and instrumentals alike. Barely even noticed the time passing.

Tell me, what is your favourite song in their second album? 'Sehnsucht', yes, that one. Your favourite is 'Spiel Mit Mir', I see! One of their most sensual songs, instrumentally. Lyrically, not so much - but that's part of their charm.

Well, it was the titular track that hooked me for good. I had the good fortune to be put on water duty for a few minutes - that's when security passes out plastic cups of water to people close by, can't have people fainting from dehydration or anything. This meant that I could steal glances back at the stage now and then, as opposed to just standing there with my back turned to them, and it was 'Sehnsucht' that was playing. The lyrics got to me. Don't you agree that it's sensually poetic in the most delicately primitive way?

 _Lass mich deine Tr_ _ä_ _ne reiten_ _ü_ _bers Kinn nach Afrika..._ Ah, so wonderful. Love, sex, longing, unfulfilled lust. Agonized frustration. All within those metaphors.

That's a very important thing to remember, see. Metaphors are dangerous things, as beautiful as they can be. One who manipulates metaphors wonderfully can induce a lot of emotions within people. Till is a poet, a brilliant poet, so he must have always known this - for you see, he must have known that metaphors are dangerous things because a stray metaphor can easily give birth to love.

\-----

This is lovely food, isn't it? I'm glad you're enjoying it. I swear, this restaurant becomes better every time I visit. His recommendation really was a valid one.

Whose? Till's, of course. I'm getting to that just now. Let me just have another sip of my Doppelbock.

Ahh. Bliss.

After that performance, I immediately went to the others and asked to take the shifts for the front row for the four more days they were due to perform. My superiors looked at me oddly, but here was a man volunteering for what's essentially the bane of many security guards' lives - we had to pull out many drugged-up, violent thugs out of many performances - and I was doing so for no other reason than just _wanting_ to. Why not?

Then I went and sought out their albums. Some were being sold in the foyer - they'd had two albums out, one that had only come out a few months before, and I snapped them up. Emptied my wallet. I didn't feel like I'd wasted my money at all, especially when I got to my flat and put them on my little CD player. It was at least half eleven at night by that point, and noise was highly discouraged, but did I care? When you first fell in love with Rammstein did you care about noise or the contents of the lyrics? You didn't. It was exactly the same with me. I listened to 'Herzeleid' first, all the way through to the end, and then 'Sehnsucht'. Again, all the way to the end. Then I did it again with both albums. Very little sleep was had that night, as you can imagine, and the morning after I woke up to some complaints from the neighbours as well. But I barely cared. My heart was beating to the extreme. I felt alive, truly _alive,_ for the first time in years.

For the next four nights I worked security and chatted to Till Lindemann in the hallways while we smoked cigarettes together. On the second night he told me about the fascist accusations they were getting - yes, still an ongoing debate, how silly is that? And we talked about that, laughed about it, and he invited me to a backstage party. That was one of four, one for each night I went to. With the entire band and some of their roadies present - there I got to meet everyone, told them my name, and essentially underwent a crash course in Rammstein knowledge.

I still remember what Till said to me about myself. By this point I knew he wrote the lyrics for their songs, which simply heightened my admiration for him even more. "You know," he told me on the fourth night, I think - it's not very clear - "anyone tell you that you're a bit - _different?_ "

"What do you mean?" I asked. I wouldn't have described myself as 'different' under any circumstances.

"You work hard. You throw out unruly people. You do your job perfectly as guards ought to, and it doesn't look like you've ever smoked a joint or did a line in your life. More than what I can say for a lot of people. But you're so _young_ and with all the potential you've got - what's a kid like you doing here, when I think you're capable of so much more?"

I was flattered, of course, but at the same time I didn't know how to answer that. He had that effect on me a lot. "I think you're different too, all of you are," I dodged the question. He raised an eyebrow. "I don't mean in the lunatic sense, either. You write beautifully. You sing beautifully. But I'd find it hard to place your band squarely in a category - heavy metal, heavy rock, dance metal, none of them fit exactly. I guess what I'm saying is that if all I can come up with is that ill-assorted list, it might be a testament to the fact that perhaps you guys are an original. You act like you give a damn about the audience, too. Security has to work both ways, we've had to pull drunk members of certain bands off members of the audience just as frequently-"

He then smiled at me again in the way I previously described to you. "Of course. Did I tell you what happened last year with the fireworks?"

You know this story, so I won't repeat it word for word, but you know that their use of pyrotechnics stems from an incident in 1996 when a prop on fire fell onto the audience. With Till in particular being a masochist for fire, too, they decided to get training and it worked out in the end. When he told me that story, he himself was technically still undergoing training, he hadn't had his license yet. I thought it was admirable that he'd actually jumped off the stage to help the audience, singing be damned, and that instead of shying away from fire, he chose to _master_ it instead. It was something that stuck to my mind.

They were gone after that. Off to other venues. I knew they would be back, but not for a while. It didn't matter.  
I knew what I wanted to do then. Till left me with the seeds of an idea; for the first time, I wanted to pursue something desperately.

I wanted to pursue the fire that had been set off in my heart.

It wasn't hard to track down what company they'd gotten their pyrotechnics training from. So I applied to train, willing to start from the bottom of the ladder again - after all, when I worked as a stagehand and security guard, that was exactly what I did. And that worked out for me. Patience is one virtue I'm proud to say that I possess. Two years of full training would be required if I were to get myself the license.

I quit being a guard. I became an apprentice pyrotechnician in a professional crew. It was as simple as that. At first I was a bit nervous, but fire is surprisingly easy to handle once you deprive yourself of all fear - it's a cause and effect. You lather on the oil on the exact path that you need to work on - then you strike the match and touch it ever so gently onto the trail, wearing protective gear and always with a full awareness of your surroundings - and fire will do exactly what you want it to do. Occasionally it will spark and rebel and it'll burn, but that is something you can overcome.

Till liked fire precisely because of the fact it would flare up at the slightest mishandling. Absolute perfection is needed from both sides.  
He loved the way he could wield such power and yet be so weak before it, because fire - while obedient - is unforgiving. His countless burns will affirm that.

When I told some people that 'Bestrafe  Mich' might have undertones of his masochistic relationship with fire, I was laughed off. But that is what fandom is about. Guesswork. I work with the man and even I'm left guessing, and that's perfectly fine! Their incomprehensibility is part of their charm. Ah, here's the coffee! Do you usually take sugar with your espresso? I do. It's worth a try. Tastes like fine dark chocolate, doesn't it?

I worked around Berlin, learning as I went, preparing myself for the exams that were to follow. Only worthwhile months of studying I remember doing. I never forgot Rammstein and what their music had inspired in me. I always thought of Till as well and looked up details as to where they would be touring or visiting next. I went to one of their concerts around early spring, some months into my apprenticeship, this time as part of a full audience. No front row, though. I don't think I could have handled that back then. But otherwise, I kept my love for them fairly secret but passionate. Somehow my life seemed more meaningful that way.

Only a year later I would run into them again while they were booking the venue our crew was working in. Sheer luck this time. I really hadn't thought he'd remember me after a full, undoubtedly very busy year; I was holding a bucket filled with fireworks when I ran into Till, who immediately looked down at the items I was carrying around. He recognized them - recognized me - almost instantly.

"Hello," he greeted me with that smile of his, much to my surprise, and actually reached out his hand to grasp mine and share the load. "so you moved on from throwing out drunk people, hmm?"

The rest was history. I finished my apprenticeship while working for their shows, and I've stayed under employment in their crew ever since. That was in 1998, shortly before Live Aus Berlin - I remember watching my then-mentor put the finishing touches on those sparking boots that Till wore for 'Weisses Flesich'. Over these five years I have followed them, my life was turned around completely and definitely for the better. I got to know the rest of the band closely as well, it's practically part of my job to patch up Paul and Richard after certain shows, and I became fast friends with them. All of them. We swap gossip and restaurant recommendations and even information like what one should wear in public to avoid being recognized. And here I am now, having worked my way up a little higher up the ladder this time.

I didn't specify exactly what kind of job I had beforehand. Well, now you know.  
The head pyrotechnician of the Rammstein crew, at your service.

\-----

You're remarkably trusting, my dear. We've never met until this evening, and yet you let me take you to a restaurant and heard me out with the most intense expression on your face. A sense of adventure, you say? Haha, well, I'm inclined to agree. Just the kind of confidence and strength I would expect from a faithful Rammstein fan.

The kind of confidence and strength I gained from them, as I mentioned before. We have quite a bit in common, don't we?

For the next part of my story, I want to take you someplace else. Somewhere very quiet. I can't say I've ever taken a lady there before.

Can you trust me for that as well? If you want to go home now, I'll understand.

You do trust me? Excellent! Do please contact a friend or parent to tell them where you are now, though. Your safety is of my utmost concern.

\-----

_Komm... in mein Boot...  
Der beste Seemann... war... doch ich..._

Ah, I love compliments! Nothing like a long conversation during a boat journey, and what better song than 'Seemann' to set the mood?

This is my humble little boat, and I frequent this branch of the river a lot. It leads to a shallow wetland, just deep enough for the boat to pass by, with crisscrossing channels. A quiet night. Do snuggle under those blankets while I row us to where we need to go. There's something that I'd like to show you.

It's amazing, how transformed I became after meeting Rammstein. I'm no longer an indifferent, apathetic young man. I'm almost thirty years old now, which is just as well, because once you're thirty I don't think you can afford to be so indifferent towards anything anymore. Apathy is a luxury for dreamy youngsters. For sure, I am a much happier man now, with a steady job doing what I love, listening to music I love, being around friends - and now on a date with a charming lady! There's nothing else I could want. And I owe it all to Till.

Remember discussing 'Messer' with me online? Oh, the hours we spent discussing all those poems! That, and 'Reise, Reise' is the pinnacle of his achievements in my opinion. He also encouraged me to write a few years back, saying that I had a way with words. I can't judge myself, though. They're amateur efforts in every sense of the word. I think many things pale before Till's verses and prose; comparing my words to his would be a grave insult to him! But I can say that he's inspired me to read more and truly appreciate the beauty of language. I also took up swimming again recently. So you see, the man you see rowing in front of you is a creation of Till Lindemann. I was merely _existing_ , not living, before he came along. I was a philosophical zombie, a mere imitation of life walking around aimlessly before he breathed purpose into me.

I think many people feel the same way, if I'm honest.

You feel like that too? That's wonderful. We have a lot in common, don't we? Till and I have a lot in common, too. That means you have a lot in common with your - our - idol, too, my darling.

Oops. Hit a little bump there. Nothing serious. Look at the moonlight being reflected off the surface of the water. Beautiful, no?

I'm glad you find my story interesting so far.  
But every story has two sides. I'm a fair man, and I've just told you everything good about the years I've spent with them. Sadly, I can't say that everything has been that smooth all the way through, especially recently. You've heard about the Emigrate dispute and how they've taken another hiatus, right? And how they seem a bit more distant from each other than before? Trust me, your eyes are not deceiving you. I can confirm that tensions within the band have been high quite recently.

Mmm, Flake running Till over with his Segway a few months back has something to do with that, of course. All those Asian concerts cancelled, all those fans left disappointed. Yes, Richard's apparent side project is also a part of the tension - I admittedly don't know much about that, although I highly doubt that the band will break up because of it. A small relief, for sure. But unfortunately, I do confess, it _is_ Till himself who's been the root to most of the problems.

Right now, he is not the charismatic beast who wore a Mohawk and starred in videos about bank robberies for the sake of being heard. Right now, he's not writing witty and incredibly metaphorical lyrics about equally obscure and controversial subjects. In fact, he's not writing at this point in time at all. He's also gained weight and quite the irritated disposition lately. Very worrying. I can't bear to see him letting himself go. Rosenrot was quite the disappointment for me, lacking in direction and wild fire. It's the worst reviewed album of theirs by far, you know that. Don't flinch, darling. You know it's true. I told you, I have a way of being firm like that. And you agree, don't you?

Then I heard that he'd argued with his daughter. I didn't believe that one at first. Nele was always the one priority in his life, even when I first met him he'd frequently call her and talk about her with pride. And then more dirt got dug up, along with me thinking about all of this in a bit more detail. Couldn't believe I'd never given much thought to it before, that Till was away six months of the year with the band and didn't have much time to pay attention to Nele. Apparently he'd leave her alone at nights even when he was around, though, and when she was too young for it too. Bam! Just like that, the family man image broke into pieces. That one hurt the most, I guess, because I'd gotten used to thinking of him as a good father. My father wasn't a good father, his father wasn't a good father - I'd thought he was doing so well, breaking that cycle, but I was wrong.

And being wrong about someone, especially about such matters, really burns. I don't think I felt more cheated in my life.

The final straw was when I actually walked into him, passed out on the floor after having smoked three joints throughout the night. I helped him up, and all he did was to giggle helplessly before kicking me out of the room and slamming the door in my face. Could you believe that? Me, his closest confider outside the band, the one who once held his hand as he helped with a bucketload of fireworks - and he was throwing my helping hand off and rejecting my care!

And then it felt as if the light within me was burning out, being switched off, and I couldn't let that happen!  
I turned my life around from the dirt because of that light and _the light must never be switched off_.

Have you ever hated someone you loved to pieces? Because in that one single moment, as I stared at his door, I felt the strongest hatred and loathing welling up inside me at seeing what he had become. Here I am, helplessly loving him, the eternally youthful God and muse that I've set up on a pedestal for nearly ten years - and - and - _there_ he is, up _there_ , laughing as he slowly breaks apart that very pedestal I honored him with!

Don't get me wrong. I love Till more than anything. But it's Till Lindemann the poet that I admire. The tortured artist. The aloof, but deeply caring individual. The shy, quiet assurance he exudes just by standing there. The idea of Till Lindemann the poet and singer turns me on, big time, and I don't even consider myself gay. But push away the cameras, dig your heels in a little deeper, and you find him falling to pieces! Not at all like the Ubermensch that he appeared to be. A chaotic, almost disgustingly _human_ individual deep inside, filled with anger and irrationality and vices who doesn't appreciate just how much he's loved by the masses! There came a point where he withdrew and started thinking about himself, pandering to the base instead of exploring new possibilities.

I stayed though because I wanted Till Lindemann to be Till Lindemann the artist, not Till Lindemann the drug-addicted sellout. Not Till Lindemann the neglectful father. But there's only so much the innocent love of a pyrotechnician can do. Beyond my help, he was. _And I just couldn't stand it!_

He gifted me with so many of the things he had! I became a pyrotechnician like him, I grew to appreciate literature and poetry like him. Had the swimmer's body too, along with a fairly unhappy family background. And like him I didn't take any kind of shit from anyone, could either tell them to leave me be and succeed or beat the _shit_ out of any fucker who _dared_ to cross me!  
Why, I was even more like Till Lindemann than _he_ was being! It had to stop, it couldn't go on like this. So I had to stop him, surely you understand, _don't you see how that couldn't have been anything but a matter of utmost importance_ -

-Huh? What was that? Why are you standing up? It's dangerous, please do sit back down, you might fall in!

You want to get back? I don't understand. We're a long way away from the urban area now, my dear, and you can see that it's too narrow to turn back here. There isn't a point where we can turn the boat around until we get to our destination.

What are you doing?  
What is that?

Is that pepper spray? _What_ \- my dear, there's been a misunderstanding somewhere, I have no intention of hurting you!  
Oh, stop it, you're rocking the boat! Calm down, I can explain! I swear - I swear to all that's sacred that I mean you no harm. I just want to show you something, that's all; no, no, I don't mean it in that way! My God, what can I do to convince you? Please sit _down_ , you'll tip us over, don't you see the water seeping in where it's rocked to the side, I really don't think that you're

\-----

...

Hello?

...

... Can you hear me?

Your eyes are open! My dear, are you all right? You aren't hurt badly, don't worry. You were just knocked out when we passed over a low tunnel; I've put a band-aid over your forehead, but it's not bleeding very much. I did try to warn you.

And I've got your pepper spray here. In my coat. I'm sorry. I can't let you do that. We're still on course as well.

What was that? What am I going to do with you? Oh, don't look at me like that, I really don't mean to cause you any harm! When I brought you here I simply wanted to show you something in accordance to my story, and I don't want to do anything other than that. When it's done, I will take you back; there's just no sense in abandoning you or doing anything else to you. That's why I asked you to phone someone you knew to tell them where you were before we came to the river. There's no signal here, but check your bag. The phone's still there, isn't it? Cutting you off from help is not my goal.

But you can't row back without me, my dear. We're in a very rural area and it's quite the swamp here, and we've followed a complicated route that only I know about. Look, here is the other oar; you can't leave this place without me, and I can't row back with only one oar. We have to trust each other. We have to work together. Will you be able to do that?

Good. Good. I'm glad. Thank you very much.

It's not far ahead.

\-----

I told you at the start, this is a confession. So I won't lie. I confess: I do know where Till Lindemann is.

It wasn't hard to get him that drunk, as you would expect. It wasn't hard to slip the drug into his drink either, as you would expect. But it was difficult getting him in his car, because the drug wore off a lot quicker than I expected. He's fit and strong, I should have doubled the dose, but somehow the thought just didn't occur to me until he woke up to find me trying to stuff him into the back seat and started screaming. He didn't recognize me in the darkness, but he was struggling a lot and I had to shut him up. He wouldn't stop screaming. So I had to hit him over the head, see. As a pyrotechnician, he kept a small portable fire extinguisher in the back of his car for emergencies; I grabbed that and hit him over the head and he went down. But he wouldn't stop screaming so I had to keep on hitting him until he fell silent. I'm strong, but let me tell you, it was a real workout heaving him into the car and swinging that thing around, even if it was just a small one. My muscles ached for days afterwards.

There was some blood. Well, that's not quite true. Quite a significant amount of blood. Couldn't have that staining the back seat, oh no. Wrapped him in a blanket to soak it all up - the blanket, I later burnt in my back yard. The car I took as well, it was a perfectly good car. The very car we drove here in.

That was a month ago. I got him while he was coming back from the awards ceremony that took place then.

And no one was any wiser.

\-----

Turn right a little, my darling. And... one, two... there you go. Hear the thud of the boat? It's somewhat solid ground from this point. I'm glad you aren't wearing high heels, though, it's still muddy out here. Would you like some boots? I've got one in your size - bought it just for the occasion, remember when you told me your shoe size amongst a few other things? It's fine if you don't take it, though.

Oh, you'll take it. They do look very good on you. They don't pinch or rub, right? Good. Here's a flashlight. I'll just tie up the boat by this wooden post, and we'll get going. It's less than five minutes' walk away.

Thank you for accompanying me through tonight. I've never spilled out so much of myself to another human being before. Well, more accurately, to a lovely woman such as you before. If you won't mind, may I hold your hand for a little while? Just until we get there. It feels unreal even to myself. No? All right. I do understand. Perhaps the next time we meet we might progress to that level, yes, we might. Hey, whatever gets you off.

You doubtless want to hear what happened after I got him in the car. Well, he was filthy. Had to be cleansed. So I drove and tossed him in the river because that was the only place I could think of. This river, in fact. His body was calm and still as he sank just beneath the surface, the expression on his face ever so peaceful. Eyes closed. He looked as if he were merely asleep. Staring at him, lying unconscious in front of my eyes - his hair billowing out ever so slowly in the water and his blood slowly spreading in a wine-colored haze - I realized I didn't want to do this anymore. No more balancing act from the sidelines. Not only did I not want to watch any more, I didn't want to be myself any more.

I want that, I told myself as I stared at him. I want that.

Maybe it's just a mid life crisis. Nothing to do but to reverse it so he's not middle-aged anymore.

We'll stop here a little. You sound tired. I'm sorry for putting you through this. Have some water - I needed to get the bottle out anyway - please drink your fill. The rest of the water needs to go in this basin. Okay? Let's move on.

Do you see that? Just there, on the ground. A large pit with bars over it. We're here. Come and look, don't be afraid. This is a gift to you. Take the basin and set it down - there you go, just between those bars, that's it - and come stand next to me.  
I'll shine the flashlight down.

Look, there he is. Isn't he looking well today? See how he turns to stare at us! You've always wanted to meet your idol, haven't you?

" _What do you want from me?_ " he's screaming.   
His voice is so hoarse, isn't it? That's what the water is for. " _What do you want? What do you want from me?_ "

He sounds in healthier spirits today.  
So! What do you think, darling?

Why do you look so shocked? You didn't think I'd _killed_ him or anything, right? Oh no, no, I could have never done that! I needed him alive, see. For inspiration.

First I had to match myself to him physically. I was already of similar girth to him even before I became a stagehand because of the all the manual labor I did, which was fortunate. He was tanned so I had to tan myself. He was burned so I burned myself in the same spots as he did. He had the large torn scar on his abdomen so I tore the skin on my own stomach with a knife. And as you've doubtless noticed, vocally I'm also a bass-baritone. I'll take off my hat now - see, black hair, glossy and in that beautiful fringe hairstyle. My natural hair colour is brown, so dying it black wasn't much of a problem - it was hard to adopt the fringe, though, because I always wore my hair fairly short. But I pulled it off in the end.

Look at my eyes, too, now that I've taken my glasses off. I'll hold the flashlight up. Green. His exact shade of green.  
My eyes are normally blue. I put on my contacts just before we left the restaurant.   
It was expensive as hell, getting specialized contacts made to his shade, but it had to be done.  
These are his clothes that I'm wearing underneath this coat too. You see?

I handed in notice for extended leave, and then for the past month we have been engaged in this giving and taking - and amidst all this, I met you and was brought to you.

Because, hey, whatever gets you off. And Till gets you off.

It was as if his appearance was tailored for me. When I said I wanted that - I meant, specifically, that I wanted to _be_ that.   
Now you know.

Every time I took something of his attribute I had to deprive him of it to remind what I'd taken and what I still had left to take. I shaved his head clean because I have his hairstyle now. He's naked because I took his clothes. There isn't much I can do for his voice, eyes or physique, but I can't imagine they'd last entirely too long when he's down there. He's lost his usual tan, see how pale he is? You do. And his voice isn't quite the same as before. But there's still things I need to adopt from him - look, he still has the fire in his eyes, his spirit isn't broken at all. I want that. I want it all. His art, his charm, his soul.

From the shadow of a downtrodden, working class male he created me with his music, his poetry, his voice.  
I am what I am because of him and I cannot be more grateful to him for it.

He's as close to a deity as I can imagine. I'm taking out all his vices, things that bind him to the filthy dregs of humanity, embodying all that is good about him instead. He is the ideal male figure and by taking his form, I'm worshipping him to the extreme. I'm fairly close to it already. Who do you think sang with the band in that festival two nights ago?

This is tale of transformation, I told you that before. A confession. A liberation.

He will never be half the Till Lindemann that I am.

**Author's Note:**

> Before I begin my notes, I apologize to any I have offended. That was not my intention. I sincerely apologize if you were offended by any of this.
> 
> Yes, this is my interpretation of the video for 'Mutter'. Quite an unusual one, I say so myself.
> 
> I acknowledge a lot of influences on this one. It was Cinemel's picture (http://fav.me/d4qu7vd) that got me thinking, really. Till is also my ideal masculine figure physically - and I also appreciate him poetically as well. With my incredibly lacking German I translate his poems in my blog and every time I make a new discovery I marvel at his genius. Then I got to thinking about what his own opinion on his immense fandom might be, whether he's ever wondered about the sheer extent of his influence over the fans. Creator-creation relationships followed. The Pygmalion myth, of the sculptor who loved his sculpture. Frankenstein, who created life and grew to abhorr his creation. I wrote a journal about this, exploring the relationship between art and artist and whether they were to be considered separate entities or inevitably bound together. 
> 
> Thoughts ran away with me eventually, and this was born. The creation, created in the image of the creator, becomes the creator. Kind of Nietzsche-ish. The usurper, the traitor, the lover. All tied to a portrait of a dedicated fan, shown through the eyes of his madness. Bullying or dismissal isn't the only way to degrade a human being, you see. Excessive idolization is also an effective way to dehumanize someone. Whenever I see rabid fans, I get frightened, regardless of what fandom it might be. Fandom turning into Fan Dumb is one of the worst things you can imagine. It frightens me, quite frankly. I also worship Till almost as a poetic God myself and I write all those stories about the band too. Hell, I don't know very much, though. I'm only a kid of eighteen years old who has entirely too much time to think. I feel pretty old sometimes, but age-wise, I'm not really. 
> 
> Thinking that I might be one of those people is effective nightmare fuel. If I ever became famous, I think I would fear those words the most: " _I'm your biggest fan._ "
> 
> Now I've gone and scared myself thinking of Stephen King's 'Misery'. Also an influence in this story. Brb hiding in my bed reading about cats forever.


End file.
